


Down Time

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [62]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Ryan's accident, he gets to spend some time in Cumbria with his daughter, and Stephen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Time

Stephen took a long, slow breath and held it while he sighted down the barrel of probably the worst rifle he’d ever had the misfortune to hold. He had one shot left and he was going to have to make it count.

His quarry came into sight, its movements jerky and unpredictable. Stephen had already nearly wasted one shot because of an awkward hair-trigger, but he knew perfectly well that only a bad workman blamed his tools. His heart rate was steady, his hands were equally steady and he’d made the necessary calculations in his head, even allowing for the slight breeze that had been blowing all afternoon.

He squeezed his finger delicately on the trigger. The rifle bucked in his hands.

With a metallic ding, the small yellow duck flipped over backwards. The noise of the airgun pellet hitting the moving target was almost drowned out by the whoop that Ryan’s daughter let out at his side.

“Nice shooting, Hart,” Ryan smiled, and Stephen felt his lover’s hand trail suggestively across his jeans-clad arse before he straightened up and handed the abysmal excuse for an air rifle back to the boy in charge of the stall.

“Twenty out of twenty!” yelled Vicky in delight. “I get the monkey!”

“It’s an ape, not a monkey,” Stephen commented, studiously ignoring the glare on the boy’s face as he reached up to retrieve the star prize that was meant to draw the punters in, while remaining suitably unattainable.

“It’s brilliant!” Vicky took possession of an enormous orange orang-utan and swung it around, clobbering a passing gentleman in a tweed jacket who smiled indulgently down at her, his lips nearly hidden by an enormous white handlebar moustache.

“It’s certainly impressive,” the man agreed.

“Sorry, Colonel Morton,” Ryan said, as he ruffled his daughter’s untidy blonde hair. “But she’s practically been holding her breath for the last ten minutes while Stephen stalked those ducks for her.”

The old man laughed. “I know, I’ve been watching. So the village rumour was right, was it, young man?”

Stephen raised his eyebrows, wondering which particular rumour the colonel was alluding to, and wondering whether he’d noticed Ryan groping his arse.

Colonel Morton’s eyes twinkled with amusement. Staveley was a small village and there weren’t many secrets in that area of Cumbria. “I heard that if it hadn’t been for the lure of the rainforest, you would have had a place in the Olympic shooting team. Looks like you haven’t let your skills slide.” The colonel nodded approvingly and looked down at Vicky, who was still clutching her prize and grinning from ear to ear. “So, which unfortunate stallholder is going to get fleeced next, young lady?”

“Daddy’s going to play Whack-a-Mole!” Vicky announced.

“Oi, since when did we contract to slaughter the local wildlife?” Ryan demanded, grinning.

His daughter favoured him with the full force of her 12-year-old disdain. “Daddy …!”

Ryan rolled his eyes and allowed his daughter to tow him off across the field.

“What is it about village fairs that takes at least ten years off everyone’s age?” Stephen asked, trading amused looks with the colonel.

“How’s Captain Ryan doing?” Colonel Morton asked quietly. “Any lasting effects?”

The colonel was alluding to the head injury that had left Ryan unconscious for two days. They’d been in the Lake District for a week now, getting some much-needed rest and relaxation and enjoying the hospitality of Ryan’s ex-wife, Amanda Thornton, and her husband, Greg.

“He’ll be fine,” Stephen said, truthfully. “He just gets tired more quickly than he used to but the doctors warned him to expect that.”

“Nasty time for you, I expect.” The colonel held Stephen’s eyes for a moment and he nodded thoughtfully. “Not easy being attached to someone in Ryan’s line of work. I’m amazed my wife stood it for so long. But your job’s not exactly safe, is it?” Before Stephen had a chance to answer, Colonel Morton muttered, “Asked a few questions after that business with the children. Small village, you understand. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.” He raised his voice to normal levels again. “Come to dinner when he’s feeling up to it. Swop a few war stories, eh? Amanda and Greg have my number.”

“Thanks, we’ll look forward to it,” said Stephen, and meant it. He had no doubt that the colonel would prove an entertaining dinner companion. He was in his 80s, but looked a good ten years younger, with thick white hair swept back from a lined forehead and penetrating blue eyes that clearly never missed a trick.

Together they strolled over to watch Ryan hefting a cricket bat and getting ready to make a valiant attempt to win the next prize that his daughter had set her heart on - a large, white teddy bear. To win it, Ryan would not only have to whack all six tattered-looking lumps of weighted fake-fur as they shot out of a pipe at speed, but he would also have to get at least four of them into a small net set up a few feet away. All the kids had to do to win something was just whack the ‘mole’, not net it, but it had been deliberately made harder for the adults.

The man in front of him, who’d also been pushed into the line by an equally excited daughter of about Vicky’s age, had hit the last two ‘moles’, but had managed to miss the net with both, sending one into the plywood surround, while the other one had sailed over the top and knocked a passing woman’s large straw hat off, drawing a comment of “Friendly fire,” from the colonel and a grin from Stephen.

Ryan positioned himself carefully. He had six shots and so could only afford to miss twice. The first mole missed the net by almost a metre. It hit the plywood and fell to the ground. It looked like the scrap of fur had a ball inside it, and was lighter than Ryan had expected.

The next mole came out of the pipe more slowly, but Ryan had its measure and it landed fairly and squarely in the net. Vicky squealed and Stephen and Colonel Morton watched approvingly. The following two came at speed again and were both propelled into the net with consummate ease. Stephen was pleased to see that the head injury hadn’t had any deleterious effect on his lover’s hand to eye coordination, or his reflexes, and he fully intended to relay that information to Ditzy when he got a moment to himself. The medic had told Stephen in no uncertain terms that he wanted to be kept up to date with his CO’s progress.

The fifth mole proved trickier, and was clearly differently weighted again. It fell short of the net, much to Vick’s disappointment.

“Daddy, you’ve only got one shot left!” Vicky pointed out unnecessarily.

“For the honour of the regiment,” intoned Colonel Morton.

“She’s set her heart on that bear, but no pressure, sweetie,” grinned Stephen.

Ryan treated them all to a parade ground glare and took up position. The last mole was dropped down the pipe, emerging moments later. It was another slow one but Ryan was ready for it. With a reverberating thwap, the lump of brown fur was smacked by the cricket bat right into the middle of the net.

Vicky bounced up and down and claimed the white bear, which she then thrust at Ryan, announcing, “Keep him for me, daddy. I’ve got to get Lady Penelope ready for the gymkhana.” She shoved the orang-utan into Stephen’s arms. “Look after the Librarian, please, Stephen!” And then she was gone, leaving Stephen and Ryan looking at each other and laughing.

“Care to join me in the beer tent, gentleman?” asked the colonel with a commendably straight face.

Stephen hoisted the mass of orange fur onto one shoulder. “I’m just bloody glad they don’t give goldfish as prizes any more, or madam would no doubt want to restock the pond.”

“Don’t give her any ideas!” pleaded Ryan.

* * * * *

After a couple of beers followed by an enormous pork and stuffing roll, Stephen and Ryan took their places at the gymkhana, securing front row seats for themselves and keeping places for Greg and Amanda by the simple expedient of plonking the Librarian and Whitey, as Ryan had named the bear, onto a pair of seats next to them.

Amanda and Greg arrived just as a host of pre-teen children started a parade lap around the ring, perched on ponies of all shapes, sizes and colours. Of Vicky’s two ponies, Lady Penelope and Parker, it was the dapple-grey Lady Penelope who was getting an outing today. Parker, a sturdy black fell pony, was mainly used for trekking. According to Vicky, he disdained artificial jumps and wouldn’t put on any sort of performance. After the third time he’d bitten a judge, his young owner had taken the hint, and let him stick to what he enjoyed. Lady Penelope, on the other hand, appeared to be a born show-off.

Lady Penelope was immaculately turned out, as far as Stephen could see, but it wasn’t enough to earn her a rosette for looks.

“Vicky doesn’t spend enough time cleaning her tack,” grinned Greg.

Stephen watched Ryan glance down at his own pair of very scruffy boots.

“Takes after her father,” Amanda nodded, catching Stephen’s eye. He noted that there was none of the bite that would have been present in her voice when Stephen had first encountered her. “Even the army couldn’t make Tom enjoy cleaning leather, and Vicky’s as bad. She’ll do well in the jumping, though.”

And, as Stephen soon discovered, that wasn’t just a fond parent talking. There were obviously some very good pairs competing, even though it was only a small country fair. According to Greg, who spent various weekends driving a horse-box around Cumbria, some of the kids had truck-loads of prizes and rosettes, and took their competitions very seriously. Vicky was keen, but her brief sojourn with a bunch of her classmates in the Cretaceous had broadened her horizons, and Pony Club was no longer the be-all and end-all of her weekends. She spent a fair amount of time now with several of her friends who’d been through the same experience, camping out in their parents’ gardens and practising the survival skills that they’d started to learn, and Vicky was determined to get some more lessons in looking after herself from her father. Neither her mother nor her stepfather objected. Not with an experience like their daughter’s still casting a shadow into their dreams.

Vicky was competing last, and the girl immediately before her set a blindingly fast clear round on a large white-nosed bay, which had taken first place in the best turned-out pony and rider competition.

“That’s going to be hard to beat,” Stephen commented, as Candy trotted out of the ring with Monica Edwards on her back, already looking triumphant.

Greg Thornton pulled a couple of cold beers out of a bag at his feet and handed one to Ryan while Stephen and Amanda helped themselves to some equally cold orange juice. “Vicky’ll leave her standing,” he predicted, confidently.

Even Ryan raised his eyebrows at that, but it was clear that Greg’s obvious pride in his stepdaughter was adding to the soldier’s enjoyment of the day. The two men got on well and Stephen was glad that Ryan was getting to spend some much-needed time with his daughter. He just wished that it hadn’t taken a head-injury to precipitate some down-time.

The bell rang and Lady Penelope sprang into action, clearing the first jump from what was almost a standing start, without taking the slightly longer route to it that the other riders had all favoured. She cleared the next couple of jumps equally smoothly. The pony was light on its feet and could turn on a sixpence, cutting seconds off anyone else’s time on the course.

“That’s not a pony, it’s a bloody scrambling bike!” commented Stephen in awe, as Vicky and Lady Penelope made another ridiculously tight turn into a jump called the Pig Pen, which even had a model pig in a sty looking into the area between the two hurdles, and then bounced out again, doing the pony equivalent of a wheelie before making a dash over the last fence and hurtling across the finishing line.

The crowd erupted in applause. It was winning round, and no one needed the time from the stopwatch as confirmation.

“She took three seconds out of little Miss Edwards,” announced Greg with a beaming smile, twisting the tops off another couple of bottles so that he and Ryan could toast Vicky’s success.

Amanda laughed. “I swear the parents are worse than the kids.” She turned to Ryan and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Tom, and you too, Stephen. She’s had a lovely day today and you two have made it perfect for her.”

One of Ryan’s rare smiles lit his face and he hugged his ex-wife, returning the kiss. “Thanks for having us. Lester told me you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“James took a little persuasion when it came to the helicopter, but he saw it my way eventually.”

Ryan slipped his arm around Stephen’s waist. “Lyle said you both bullied Lester unmercifully.”

“To be quite precise, Amanda bullied him and I just watched in admiration,” Stephen admitted, remembering the ex-Mrs Ryan’s virtuoso performance and total disregard of minor matters such as taxpayers’ money.

The winners, led by Vicky and Lady Penelope, trotted back into the enclosure to claps and cheers from the crowd, with Ryan and Greg on their feet, clapping and waving. Stephen and Amanda shared a fond smile and hoisted Whitey and the Librarian into the air for good measure.

Once rosettes had been pinned on and trophies held up for the cameras, Amanda leaned over and said to Stephen, “Why don’t you two slope off so Tom can have a rest? We’ll be back in a couple of hours and I’ll have something to eat ready by seven o’clock, if you’d like to join us.”

Stephen nodded. He was under strict orders not to let Ryan overdo things. Ditzy would have his balls off if he disobeyed that instruction. Ryan didn’t take much persuading and, after amusing themselves by fastening seatbelts around Vicky’s prizes in the back of her stepfather’s Range Rover, which they’d been lent for the duration of their stay, they set off back to Tarnthwaite. They were staying in a stone-built cottage separated from the main house by a stone-flagged courtyard at the rear. It gave them enough privacy to relax, but enabled them to take meals with the family and be on hand to spend time some much-appreciated time with Vicky.

Stephen closed the front door behind them and kicked his shoes off in the small hall. He slipped his arms around Ryan’s waist and gave his lover a light kiss on the lips. “Bed for you, sunshine. You’ve got time for a couple of hours sleep before dinner.”

Ryan rubbed himself lazily against Stephen and grinned. “Join me?”

Stephen could feel Ryan’s cock hardening in his jeans. It was obvious that sleep wasn’t the highest thing on his boyfriend’s agenda at that moment … but Ditzy hadn’t said anything about not having sex. In the week they’d been staying in the cottage, they’d enjoyed a few lazy hand-jobs, and Stephen had blown Ryan the night before, but they hadn’t made love properly since before Ryan’s accident.

He smiled and sucked lightly on Ryan’s lower lip. “As long as you promise to let me do all the hard work …”

“It’s a deal, Hart.”

They made their way up the stairs and into the main bedroom, a cheerful room with white-painted walls, and warm rugs strewn over a wooden floor. They both shed their clothes without ceremony, and Ryan threw the duvet off and sprawled on his back on the bed. Stephen stared down at his lover’s strongly-muscled body admiringly and ached for the feel of Ryan’s arse clenched tightly around his cock. He fished a tube of lubricant out of the bedside cabinet and settled himself down next to Ryan, running one hand up his lover’s cock which was already jutting out from the tangle of dark-blond curls at the base of Ryan’s flat stomach.

He bent over and captured Ryan’s lips with his own. He’d been intending to take this slowly, but he hadn’t anticipated the strength of own need. He’d nearly lost the man who’d become his best friend, as well as his lover. That had hurt more than Stephen had believed possible. His hands roamed greedily over Ryan’s body and Stephen kissed him like it was their last chance of happiness on earth. Ryan’s hands slid down his back, stroking him gently and when they broke for air, Stephen was conscious of the fact that his own eyes were bright with unshed tears, as were Ryan’s.

“Need you inside me,” Ryan murmured, reaching for a pillow from the other side of the bed and settling it under his hips.

Stephen knelt between Ryan’s thighs, kissing and licking his lover’s hard cock before pushing Ryan’s legs back to allow him better access to his balls and the sensitive skin behind them. He ran his tongue over the puckered skin of Ryan’s hole, paving the way for his cock with the gentle actions of both fingers and tongue until Ryan was trembling under the ministrations of Stephen’s hands and mouth.

“Stephen, please …”

“You must be desperate if you’re resorting to first names.” Stephen smiled and reached for the lubricant. He circled one slick finger around the ring of darker skin and slipped it gently inside. Neither of them ever needed extensive preparation, they both enjoyed the feeling of being stretched and filled, and he knew that was what Ryan needed now. He slicked his cock and then settled Ryan onto his thighs so he could sink forward into his lover’s body, watching it take him in as Ryan’s eyes fell shut and he groaned with pleasure, clenching around Stephen and welcoming the intrusion.

It felt good. It felt so bloody good that Stephen had to stop, buried balls deep in his lover’s arse, and simply breathe deeply, taking in the smell of Ryan’s arousal mixed with the tang of his own sweat, steadying himself and running his fingers up Ryan’s cock, gathering the pre-come beading at the tip and licking it off his fingers.

Grey eyes stared up at him, and Ryan’s need was intoxicating. Stephen took a deep breath and started to thrust into his lover’s body, slow and deep, entranced with watching the effect of every stroke, his attention focussed so strongly on Ryan that his own arousal was secondary to the pleasure of taking Ryan inexorably to the brink and holding him there.

Stephen ran his hands up Ryan’s body, rubbing his hard nipples between finger and thumb, feeling the tremors in his lover’s muscles as he pushed down to meet each stroke, clenching tightly around Stephen’s cock. Stephen felt Ryan’s hands clutching at his arms hard enough to bruise. Ryan was beyond coherent thought and certainly far beyond the coordination needed to stroke his own cock, but Stephen knew it wasn’t going to be needed. When Ryan was as aroused as this he would have no problem coming just from being fucked. Stephen watched Ryan’s hard cock bobbing against his stomach, strands of pearly fluid glistening in the sunlight filtering in through the bedroom curtains.

He sat back for a moment on his heels, his cock slipping almost out of Ryan’s body until only the head remained buried. Stephen reached down and ran one finger around Ryan’s stretched hole, massaging the skin behind Ryan’s balls and drawing something suspiciously close to a whimper from his lover’s lips.

Ryan was so close now that Stephen could positively taste his desire. He kept his strokes long and even, knowing that at this angle he was brushing against his lover’s prostate each time. Ryan’s grip tightened on his arms and he did his best to impale himself on the hard cock splitting his arse as he wound his legs around Stephen’s waist and pulled him forward.

Stephen laughed, breathless from the effort of keeping himself in check, and started to drive his hips forward, giving in to his lover’s wordless urging, no longer holding anything back, pounding into the welcoming arse, answering Ryan’s need and matching it with his own.

Ryan groaned, clenching his arse hard around Stephen’s cock, triggering a mutual climax. Stephen stiffened, emptying his balls deep into Ryan’s body as come pulsed from Ryan’s own cock onto the hard muscles of his stomach. Stephen gasped and thrust raggedly through his climax as he watched Ryan’s release overtake him. His lover’s eyes were heavy with pleasure, mouth open in a half-smile, simply begging to be kissed. Stephen’s arms were already on the point of failing to hold his weight as he withdrew from Ryan’s body, and he slumped sideways onto the bed, pulling Ryan into his arms for a messy kiss that made up for in passion what it lacked in technique.

They held each other close, gradually coming down from the pleasure-rush, tongues entwined and sweat cooling on their bodies. The shadow of Ryan’s brush with death at last had been forced to yield precedence.

“Now you’re on better terms with Amanda, am I allowed to call you Tom?” Stephen enquired, a grin twitching the corners of his mouth. Ryan had once declared that anyone using his first name reminded him of his ex-wife and it was the fastest way getting him to lose an erection.

“Only if I can get to call you Stephen without either of us having to have a near-death experience first,” Ryan countered.

“You called me Stephen when you were begging me to fuck you a few minutes ago.”

“Well, it isn’t called le petit mort for nothing,” Ryan said smugly.

Stephen rolled his eyes. “You’ve been reading books again, soldier boy.”

Ryan grinned. “Can’t have you thinking you’re the only intellectual around here. Now are you going to lick that mess off my stomach or fetch a wet cloth?”

“My teeshirt needs a wash,” said Stephen, grabbing the item in question off the floor and making use of it to mop their stomachs and catch the trail of come leaking from his lover’s body.

Stephen dropped the stained object on the floor and pillowed his head on Ryan’s shoulder. There were times in his life when he’d often wondered what it would be like to have no secrets from another human being, to feel totally relaxed in someone else’s company, needing to hold nothing back. And now he knew.

He just hoped that one day he could find the courage to exorcise the remaining ghost in his life. And then maybe he really would be at peace with himself.


End file.
